


It's All About the Singer, Not the Song

by TheNerveToServe



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types, The A-Team (TV), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Humor, Mentions of other A-Team characters in passing, Midsomer 1980s AU, Midsomer Television verse only, Platonic Relationships, Pre-established Friendships, The Barnabys have a small part but they are there, cross-over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNerveToServe/pseuds/TheNerveToServe
Summary: Cross-over fic: An A-Team and Midsomer Murders (1980s AU)When Troy struggles to understand how Face so easily cons his way past people and into any place he needs or desires to be, the con-artist decides some lessons can only be learned through demonstration.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	It's All About the Singer, Not the Song

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Please forgive this bit of crossover randomness between characters on my Tumblr RP blogs AVictimoftheJazz (Face) and ANoseForRottenApples (Troy). I was letting muses chat and before I knew it, Face and Troy had gotten themselves into a very detailed conversation that eventually became the good basis for an actual story. It also gave me room to play with observations about human nature that I have made over ten+ years of working in various customer service and tourism sectors. 
> 
> AU details: Everything’s set in the mid-1980s. On the RP blog, this would be in Troy’s 1980s cross-over verse where he had to leave England for various plot reasons and goes to work for the Foundation of Law and Government (Knight Rider fandom). Face and the rest of the A-Team are still the A-Team—Troy is politely overlooking the fact that Face is technically a wanted criminal who’s been on the run for 10+ years. Knight Rider is not tagged because, aside from a few references to the Foundation as an organization and one passing reference to April Curtis, there is nothing here actually connected to that fandom. 
> 
> Pretty much all details about Troy's family and personal life have been devised by me. The show tells us precious little about his personal life. 
> 
> Forgive this random indulgence and enjoy the story

“The root of a con is **very** simple, Troy.” Templeton ‘Face Man’ Peck rested his elbows on the table and steepled his hands in front of his face, “Essentially, most of my cons run off the simple fact that people do not actually **look** at other people. They look at the visual cues and make assumptions from there.”

“I still don’t get it.” Gavin Troy, formerly a Detective Inspector stationed in Middlesbrough, England and now a Field Agent for the Foundation of Law and Government out of California, USA, crumpled up his napkin and tossed it in the take-away tray his dinner had come in. “Even if you put on some glasses or a hat, you’re still Templeton Peck. At least Hannibal hides his face half the time….you hardly even do **that**! Yet you just **walk** into a place and everyone assumes you’ve worked there for twenty years!”

Face grinned wider. “Whether you realize it or not, you **are** getting it! If you have enough conviction and you act as if you belong somewhere, all you need are a few accessories to pull it off! That’s what I’m trying to explain to you—people hardly ever look at faces. They look at the visual cues!” He leaned forward, eagerness and a touch of the Jazz making his eyes brighten. “If I put on a hard hat and grab a clipboard, people **assume** I belong on the construction site. If I have a clipboard and a bunch of pens in my pocket, no one **questions** if I’m actually there to read the water meter. I show up at the most prestigious country club in town wearing an Armani suit and a Rolex, the front desk normally hands me a guest pass without even double-checking to make sure my ‘host’ actually exists! Like I tell Murdock, it’s the singer, not the song.” 

Troy stared at the con artist, a bemused expression crossing his face. “But what about people who know you? Besides the other men on your team of course…and Amy. But the people you know around town? Or ex-girlfriends?”

Face shrugged, “If I **should** happen to run into someone like that, there’s a chance that they **might** place me but it’s surprisingly less of a problem then you’d think. Besides, even if they do remember me, I’m usually long gone so what can they do about it? Report to Colonel Decker that I dropped by their office three hours earlier, dressed as a television repair man?” 

Troy tipped his head, acknowledging Face’s point. Unless the con artist was recognized in the moment, there was precious little people could do about it in hindsight. Then he gathered up his empty take-away tray and Face’s half-filled one, “I dunno…I still can’t believe people are **that** unobservant. A little unobservant….even a **lot** unobservant, sure. But to completely ignore a new man working the floor just because he’s carrying a clipboard? I don’t believe it.” He held up Face’s tray for the other man to see, “You gonna finish this?” 

Face shook his head to answer Troy’s more pertinent question and then leaned back in his seat. The look he fixed on Troy was coolly calculating. Then he grinned. “You grew up here, right? In Causton? And you worked here for several years before getting transferred to Middlebsorough?” 

“Yeah.” Troy threw out the trays and rubbed a napkin over his hands to get the grease off. “Mum waited tables at the _Thorny Rose_ and my Dad worked at a factory. I was in Uniform here for almost six years and spent another six years here as a Detective Sergeant.” He tossed the napkin in after the trays and turned toward his companion, eyebrows drawing together in worried confusion when he saw the way Face was grinning at him. 

“How long have you been away?” 

“A few years—just over a year in Middlesbrough and then I moved to California. You know that story already.” 

“Indeed I do….” Face’s grin became a grimace, “It’s not every day a man uncovers a drug trafficking operation in his own department and lives long enough to get some help and root them out.” He glanced at Troy quickly and then retreated back to the original subject, “So you’ve been out of Causton for two…three years maybe?” 

“Thereabouts.” Troy returned to the table but did not sit down. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, studying the con artist as keenly as Face was studying him. Then he pulled back slightly, “Why’re you so interested all of a sudden?”

“I think what you need to grasp this concept is a demonstration.” Face stood up from his chair and headed over to the extra bag he had brought with him, the one Troy had mentally dubbed Face's ‘bag of tricks’. Opening it, the con artist began rummaging through its contents as he kept speaking. “I’ll make you a wager—twenty dollars says that with just a few small accessories, I’ll be able to walk you right past someone who knows you and they won’t realize it’s you in the moment.” 

Troy scoffed lightly, “I think you’re bats but to prove that people can’t be **that** unobservant, I’ll take you up on the bet.”

“Good.” Face grinned, “Now pick a mark—someone we can run this con on. It has to be someone who still lives here and knew you decently well back in the day. Needless to say, it **can’t** be your mom.” 

Troy cast a few names over in his mind before grinning, “Tom Barnaby—my old governor.” Tom Barnaby was the most observant man Troy had ever met—maybe he was stacking the deck slightly in his favor but Troy felt no guilt about his choice. When making deals with Face, a bit of duplicity came with the territory. 

If Face was even **slightly** perturbed about the thought of trying his scheme on a Detective Chief Inspector, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he grinned and Troy could almost **feel** the Jazz starting to crackle in the air around the con artist. As far as Troy could tell, ‘the Jazz’ was a fancy name for an adrenaline high and nothing got Face more excited than setting up and running a scheme. 

“Do you know where he might be this evening?” Face started collecting the information he needed to think up a quick, low-stakes con. 

Troy considered the question and then nodded, “I do. Cully got a movie part so he and his family going out to dinner to celebrate. Barnaby asked me along when I ran into him yesterday but I told him I’ve got plans for tonight.” This evening Face and he were picking up the rest of the A-Team when they landed at the abandoned airstrip in Malham Bridge. Guessing what Face would ask next, he added, “They’re going to be at one of the new restaurants downtown.” 

Face considered the contents of his bag thoughtfully, “What else is near the restaurant?” 

“Um….” Troy cast his mind back uncertainly. Causton was still a small town compared to cities like Middlesbrough or Manchester but it had grown up a fair bit in the years he had been gone. “A few shops….there should still be a pub…oh! The Catholic church in town is down that way…. Immaculate Mary or something like that.” 

“You don’t say…” Face shoved his hands back into the bag. “Did you pack black pants, and shoes? You’ll want a black suitcoat too—I’m shorter than you so the shirt sleeves probably won’t fit.” 

“Yes.” Troy’s eyes moved down toward the bag Face was rummaging through. “Why?” 

“Because, you’re going to be a priest!” Face announced, turning around to show Troy two clerical collars in one hand and two pairs of glasses in the other. Setting these down, he added two black shirts to the collection. “How long do we have until they get to the restaurant?” 

“When Barnaby invited me, he said they’d be there about six.” 

Face glanced at his Rolex quickly, “Five-fifteen. Plenty of time then for us to run this and still pick up Amy. Get changed.” He set the accessories on the nightstand. Then he quickly closed and locked his bag before going to the closet to retrieve the appropriate clothes.

Bemused, Troy accepted one of the shirts and retrieved the other articles of clothes in question. They both changed into the completely black ensembles. 

Troy studied the clerical shirt to figure out how it fit and then slipped it on. As Face predicted, the sleeves stopped somewhat short of his wrists. “Should I question why you even brought these shirts with you?” He pulled his suitcoat on as Face combed his hair in the mirror and slipped on one of the pairs of glasses. The thin, wired frames changed the shape of his face just enough that he was not instantly recognizable. He handed the second pair to Troy. 

“If I’m bringing the collar, I’m bringing the right shirt to go with it.” Face replied cheerfully, “I’m a professional Troy and, as they say, the Devil’s in the details.” Picking up the collar, he easily slipped it into place and adjusted it. 

Troy studied the glasses and put them on. The collar that Face handed him next earned another moment of study. Then he awkwardly slid it into place and tried to adjust its fit. “My grandfather would kill me if he knew I was doing this….” He muttered. 

“All the priests I know haven’t killed me yet and I’ve been pulling this stunt for years.” Face studied his reflection again, fussily adjusting his appearance. 

“My grandfather wasn’t a vicar.” Troy uncomfortably adjusted the collar again. “He was a dyed-in-the-wool Anglican from Belfast.”

“Ooh….” Face’s voice changed, the drop in tone indicating some kind of personal understanding with the current political and religious tensions surrounding Belfast and the wider region around it. Glancing at Troy, he explained quietly, “A couple of the priests in the orphanage I grew up in were from Ireland and knew people who were caught up in it all. It’s a good thing neither of us are taking strong sides in that debate, eh?”

Glancing at himself in the mirror over Face’s shoulder, Troy nodded, his mouth turning up at one corner. “Yeah—I don’t want to fight with you over religion and politics. You’d probably win.” 

“Only by virtue of my service to Uncle Sam.” The former Green Beret adjusted the collar and his glasses once more before sucking in a deep breath and stepping back. “Ready to lose twenty dollars to me?” 

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Troy shot back, though he reached up to adjust the collar for a third time. There was no way in the world a pair of glasses and a collar would confuse Barnaby, despite Face’s confidence in the disguises. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

Ten minutes before six found both men, slightly soggier then before, standing in a sheltered alcove near the restaurant. Troy’s hands shoved deep in his pants pockets; he studied the length of street that the Barnabys should be walking in on if they were using the nearest carpark. Then he spotted the trio in question. Cully, his old boss’s daughter, was nearest the street. Joyce, Barnaby’s wife, was in the middle and Barnaby was nearest the shops they were passing by. Cully was talking excitedly to her mother and Barnaby was looking toward the two women as he listened. 

“There they are.” Troy nodded his head toward them. 

“Then….let’s go.” Face’s grin reached his eyes, brightening them with the heady rush of adrenaline that came from running a Game. Deliberately putting Troy closer to the street while he took the side furthest from the Barnabys, he pushed Troy into a walk. “Just walk casually, like we’re heading to the church…which we are.” He instructed before sliding his own hands into his pants pockets. 

For all of the preparation that had gone into this charade, the actual event only lasted a few seconds. The pair passed close enough to the Barnabys that Troy could hear Cully expounding on the filming locations—they sounded like they would all be in France—and Joyce’s enthusiastic responses. The street narrowed and Troy’s upper arm almost knocked into Barnaby’s shoulder as they passed by each other. He glanced over quickly as Barnaby automatically made the customary apology without fully looking away from his daughter. 

Then the two groups passed each other. 

Troy let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding and shot a look over his shoulder to see what Barnaby was doing. The Chief Inspector had stopped and was looking after them quizzically. Then Joyce and Cully paused, called for him, and he moved to catch up with his family. He looked back once more before Joyce said something Troy could not hear, fully capturing her husband’s attention again. 

When Troy finally looked back at Face, his mouth slightly agape, the con artist was grinning widely. “I believe you owe me twenty dollars.” 

“I don’t believe it. I worked with Barnaby for over six years.” Troy glanced over his shoulder again as the Barnabys vanished into the restaurant. “I’ve known his wife for almost as long. I’ve bloody well **kissed** Cully and gone out with her! Barnaby only glanced back twice and I might as well have been invisible to the women!” 

“It’s not personal, Troy. If you were wearing your tie and not wearing the glasses, the odds are good they would have instantly recognized you. Consider this: even Hannibal’s gotten by me a few times and he’s been my commanding officer for over fifteen years. I know him **very** well and I still don’t always recognize him.” Face consoled the other man. He had gotten used to, and even sometimes **enjoyed** , the ambiguity of being mentally invisible. For most people though, the first time or two it happened always came as a shock. Hesitating, he tacked on a better explanation for what had transpired. “You have to remember that they only glanced your way as we walked by...and honestly, **our** timing was perfect. **That’s** something you can’t count on—it’s a matter of luck.” 

Troy narrowed his eyes, “You mean because they were both listening to Cully go on about the filming locations?” 

“Exactly!” Face pulled one hand free from his pocket in order to gesture with it. “They were focusing on her and what she was saying so your old boss was only keeping a customary eye on his surroundings to begin with. He probably saw us coming, noticed that we were dressed like priests and, knowing the church is down this road, made the logical conclusions based on the evidence.” 

“Then how do you explain him looking back?” Troy looked up as they approached the impressive facade of the Catholic Church and then glanced at the sign. Parish of the Immaculate Conception of Mary—his memory was better than he had thought. 

“People tend to recognize gaits…body language….” Face shrugged, “Somewhere in the back of your boss’s mind, he recognized you but he was distracted by his family. I’d wager that in about fifteen minutes, once he’s settled at the restaurant and reading his menu, he’ll suddenly place you and by then…”

“We’ll have disappeared into the church and come back out as ourselves?” Troy guessed as they started climbing the stairs to the imposing double doors. 

“Precisely.” Face smiled faintly and pulled one of the doors open. Gesturing for Troy to go in first, he followed the other man. Closing the door gently behind him, he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Churches always smell the same….It’s a nice bit of consistency, I think.” He smiled faintly as he instinctively dipped the tips of his fingers into the Holy Water font and crossed himself. Staying in the vestibule so as not to disturb the scatter of people praying in the main church, he reached up to pull the collar out and remove his glasses. 

Troy glanced at the font and then pulled his collar loose. Studying it for a moment, he slipped it into his jacket pocket. Running a hand through his short hair, he winced when he sent a flurry of water droplets onto the stone floor. Then he took his rain-splattered glasses off. 

Face dried his glasses off on the inner corner of his jacket, “So does my explanation make sense now, Troy? About how you can even briefly fool people who know you fairly well?” He dropped his voice to a near-whisper in respect to his new location but his words still reached Troy in the almost silent space. 

“I still can’t believe they didn’t recognize me….” Troy muttered and then sighed. “But I do see what you mean...” He thought carefully for other moment as he dried his glasses off, “If you plan it right and don’t hang around, you probably **could** get yourself into and out of all kinds of places before anyone thinks to ask.” 

“That’s been one of my working premises for decades.” Face grinned quickly. “Now you’re far too honest to make any headway as a regular con artist but you never know when knowing the basic principles might be useful. It could even save your life someday.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Troy fished his wallet from his jacket pocket and counted out several pound notes. These he handed over to Face who glanced at them, rolled them up, and safely slipped them into one of the inner pockets of his own jacket. 

The two men waited in the vestibule for a few minutes to put space between the entrance of the ‘priests’ and their exit. Face, hands in his pockets, thoughtfully stared into the interior of the church but held back from crossing the threshold. Troy gravitated toward the bulletin board, glancing over the announcements for coming events and handouts regarding social programs, prayer guides, and questions about various aspects of the Catholic faith. 

“Come on,” Face addressed Troy suddenly as he started buttoning up his suit coat to partially obscure the shirt, “Amy should be done establishing her credentials with the _Causton Echo_ by now. We’ll meet up with her and go back to the hotel for the car. April can hold everything down while we head out to…which village was it again?” 

“Malham Bridge.” Troy copied Face, buttoning up his own coat. “What time are they all supposed to be landing?” 

“Somewhere around nine this evening but I want to be there earlier.” Face quietly pushed open the door and they stepped back into the rainy twilight. “Where BA and flying are involved, it’s best to pick them up as soon as possible. We don’t want him waking up on the plane. It’s…challenging when that occurs.” 

“They’ve got a pub there,” Troy offered, “They stay open late so no one’ll notice if we’re hanging around.” 

“Good.” Face squinted up at the rain and sighed, “Which way to the _Echo’s_ offices?” 

Troy pointed them in the right direction. After a few minutes of silent walking, he looked toward Face again. “Do you really think Barnaby will suddenly realize it was me in the priest get-up? Because it might be a little awkward to tell the Chief Inspector, and my old boss, that I was being taught how to pull cons and I decided to use him as a target.” 

Face laughed, “If he asks, just tell him you are taking part in a psychology study testing how often people look at faces verses looking at physical details such as clothing.” 

Troy rose both eyebrows, impressed at how neatly Face repackaged his bet as an elaborate sounding psychology experiment. Then he shook his head, exhaling a slightly amused huff. “You can make anything sound good, can’t you Face?” 

“It’s years of practice, Troy.” The con artist glibly responded as they approached the now-closed newspaper office and the brunette standing in the protected alcove near the door. “Just years of practice.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh good Lord….” Barnaby was half-way through his appetizer when he suddenly sat up straight and glanced toward the window. 

Both Joyce and Cully looked toward him in concerned surprise and their mutual addresses of “Tom?” and “Dad?” ran over each other. 

“That **was** Troy we passed on the street!” He announced toward the window. Then he paused and set his utensils down. “But…he’s one of the least religious men I know. He once thought a reference to the Book of Leviticus had something to do with some Russian athlete for pity’s sake.” He glanced at Cully when she tried to disguise a sudden burst of laughter as a cough. “So…why in the **world** was he dressed as a priest?” 

Pondering the question for another moment, Barnaby pulled his attention away from the window, picked his fork back up and continued eating. Perhaps he did not **want** to know…..though from the slight tingle in his nose, he knew he would not rest until he had some kind of answer for that question. 

As their meals replaced the appetizer plates, Joyce and Cully exchanged glances. Even as he focused on his family and the dinner, Barnaby was already getting the faint electric tingle around him that only came about when he had a mystery to solve. 

Small though it might be, it seemed Tom Barnaby had another case.

**Author's Note:**

> What the larger plot here is, or why a Foundation-employed Troy would team up with a bunch of wanted mercenaries is beyond me. Maybe someday I'll get a plot together and actually expand on this idea but don't hold your breath. 
> 
> The Midsomer Village of Malham Bridge is featured in the episode "A Talent for Life" (Series 6, episode 1), as is the abandoned airstrip. Troy mistook "Lev" for a Russian goalie in "A Tale of Two Hamlets" (Series 6, episode 4). Troy kissed Cully in "Death and Dreams" (Series 6, episode 2). 
> 
> When Troy and Face mention Belfast and the "current political and religious tensions", this is a reference to The Troubles, an entho-nationalist/religious conflict mainly in Northern Ireland (but sometimes spreading out to the Republic of Ireland, England, other nations in Europe and the United States) which lasted from the late 1960s to the late 1990s.
> 
> In this verse, Amy has re-joined the A-Team because my girl deserved better.


End file.
